44. Same as Before


Still in limbo; fallen out of my usual patterns. Misplaced the typical ebb and flow of words. Too many distractions and obstacles. Mixed emotions. The fan buzzing overhead only manages to shift my attention span, causes a broad range of sleepiness, soft drone of electricity. As a purring. A pulse. Your fingers slipping across my shoulders.

Honestly, I am trying to catch up with past expectations, but staring at the blank page a sense of snow blindness tricks the pupils, constricts the lenses. 

Looking for that same scratchy rhythm that emerges in Sylvia Plath's journals—a voice obsessive and demanding, an extreme want for writing.  Parallel that intensity towards A.s' insistence towards M. 

While walking the dog tonight in a developing freezing weather, a sense of dread descended, a heavy depression, without warning. Without cause. The dog kept resisting the lead. Wind fell across my path—


Create a stronger, more severe couplet structure; snap the long lines into two.

As the intoxication of hunters, sleeping fireside
afterwards, beyond the rifle shot.

Collapse of prey.
                Wounded bear. / Fallen deer. 



burning bridges— https://davidglensmith.blogspot.com/


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